THE MAFIA'S OBSESSION

THE DANCE

By the third day, everyone in the house had stopped calling me Miss Russo.

I was Mrs. Marchetti now.

The title still felt borrowed.

Dante seemed to wear it like it had always belonged to me.

"The charity gala is tonight," he said over breakfast.

I looked up from my coffee.

"I'm not going."

"You are."

"I don't attend parties with people who wanted me dead forty-eight hours ago."

"It's not a request."

I smiled sweetly.

"Then my answer is still no."

His eyes held mine for several seconds.

"You enjoy arguing with me."

"I enjoy winning."

"We'll see."

---

By sunset, I was standing in front of a mirror while three women pinned the final pieces of my hair into place.

The dress was midnight black.

Elegant.

Dangerous.

Very Marchetti.

I hated how beautiful it looked.

A knock sounded.

The women immediately stepped aside.

Dante walked in.

Then...

He stopped.

Completely.

His eyes found mine and didn't move.

Not to the dress.

Not to my hair.

Not to the diamonds around my neck.

Just...

Me.

No one spoke.

The silence stretched until one of the stylists quietly excused herself, followed by the others.

Soon...

We were alone.

"Well?" I asked.

"You've been staring."

"I know."

"So?"

He exhaled slowly.

"I don't think you should wear that dress."

I frowned.

"You picked it."

"I know."

"Then what's the problem?"

"You."

"What about me?"

"You look..."

He stopped himself.

"I changed my mind."

I folded my arms.

"That's not an answer."

His jaw tightened.

"It shows too much."

I blinked.

"Excuse me?"

"I said it shows too much."

I looked down at the dress.

It was elegant.

Nothing inappropriate.

"You've suddenly become a fashion critic?"

"No."

His voice remained calm.

"I've suddenly remembered there'll be two hundred men in the same room tonight."

Realization dawned on me.

I couldn't help smiling.

"Dante..."

He looked away.

"You are jealous."

"I'm not."

"You absolutely are."

"I'm being practical."

I laughed.

"No."

"You are jealous."

For the first time since our wedding...

Color rose slightly in his cheeks.

Barely noticeable.

But enough.

"I'll change."

The words left my mouth before I could stop them.

His head snapped toward me.

"You will?"

"No."

I grinned.

"I just wanted to see your face."

A low laugh escaped him.

"You enjoy provoking me."

"Very much."

"I'm beginning to notice."

The ballroom glittered beneath crystal chandeliers.

Music floated through the room.

Powerful men smiled while hiding knives behind expensive suits.

Powerful women smiled while pretending not to notice.

Every eye followed us the moment we entered.

I slipped my hand away from Dante's arm.

Immediately...

He took it again.

"What are you doing?"

"They're watching."

"Let them."

"They're looking for weakness."

"I don't care."

"I do."

His fingers intertwined with mine.

"If they think we're divided..."

"They'll come after you."

The warmth of his hand should have annoyed me.

Instead...

I let him hold it.

Halfway through the evening, the orchestra began another waltz.

Dante turned toward me.

"Dance with me."

"I don't dance."

"You do tonight."

"I'll step on your feet."

"I'll survive."

"I hope so."

Without waiting for another argument, he led me onto the dance floor.

His hand settled gently against my waist.

Mine rested on his shoulder.

We began to move.

"I thought you hated this marriage," I murmured.

"I do."

"You're lying."

"I know."

His honesty caught me off guard.

The music slowed.

We moved closer.

"So when did it happen?" I asked quietly.

"When did what happen?"

"When did pretending become difficult?"

He looked into my eyes.

"So you noticed."

"I notice everything."

"I've noticed."

For one dangerous second...

Neither of us spoke.

His gaze dropped briefly to my lips.

Then returned to my eyes.

A heartbeat.

Another.

He was going to kiss me.

I knew it.

He knew it.

Then

A voice shattered the moment.

"Boss!"

One of Dante's men rushed across the ballroom.

His face had lost all color.

Dante immediately stepped away from me.

"What is it?"

The man leaned close and whispered something into his ear.

Every trace of warmth disappeared from Dante's face.

His eyes turned cold.

Deadly.

He looked at me.

"We're leaving."

"What happened?"

He didn't answer.

Instead, he wrapped an arm around my waist and hurried me toward the exit.

Outside, black SUVs were already waiting.

Men were loading weapons.

The air buzzed with urgency.

I grabbed Dante's arm.

"Tell me what's going on."

He looked at me for a long moment.

Then he said the words that made my blood run cold.

"Your father has disappeared....